The skies above Draka’s kingdom were draped in a thick curtain of gray, the kind that always seemed to warn of an incoming storm. But the true storm wasn’t in the clouds, it arrived on horseback.
Kaen stood at the gate, flanked by two warriors, as King Aldrich’s men rode in like they owned the land. Their insignias gleamed on their armor, and their faces bore the smugness of men sent by a monarch who believed he couldn't be refused.
Kaen didn’t bow. He simply turned and said, “This way.”
He led them through the towering halls of Draka’s stronghold until they reached the heavy doors of the war room—Draka’s sanctum. They stepped inside and froze.
There, seated on a carved throne-like chair, was Draka himself. But it wasn’t just his imposing presence or the crimson cloak draped over one s
